


This Wild, Wild World

by MaskoftheRay



Series: The Things That I Do For You [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: And He Gets One!, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet, Blood and Injury, Boys In Love, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce and Clark (briefly) discuss Bruce's issues, Caring Clark Kent, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Honesty, Idiots (Bruce) in Love, Lack of Communication, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Past major character injury, Self-Esteem Issues, Short & Sweet, Sleep Deprivation, Soft Bruce Wayne, Soft Clark Kent, Soft boys being caring, TW: Blood, Tired Bruce Wayne, True Love, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23196883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskoftheRay/pseuds/MaskoftheRay
Summary: Although everyone— Bruce— likes to think of Superman as absolutely invulnerable, he isn’t. At least, he is notcompletelyinvulnerable. A recent incident in a fight against Lex Luthor reminds Bruce of this, and he struggles. And, of course, Bruce being Bruce, he doesn’t share his worries with Clark.Clark, of course, finds out, and is more than willing to help his boyfriend. 



Or: these are indeedwildtimes, and I needed a bit of gentle SuperBat to cheer me up 😊.
Relationships: Batman/Superman, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Series: The Things That I Do For You [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693975
Comments: 15
Kudos: 277
Collections: Superbat bottom Bruce & Top Clark1





	This Wild, Wild World

**Author's Note:**

> “It had become hard for me to continue to believe in love’s promise when everywhere I turned the enchantment of power or the terror of fear overshadowed the will to love.”  
> — _all about love: New Visions_ , bell hooks

Bruce jolts awake silently, and freezes after one sharp exhale. There’s still a chance that he hasn’t woken Clark up. Beside him, his boyfriend mutters something in his sleep, and then, with a soft sigh, relaxes again. Bruce does not relax. If he relaxes, there’s still a chance he could wake Clark. Still a chance he could lose his precarious grip on his racing thoughts. So he holds his entire body still. Still, still, still, so utterly _still_ and controlled— both arms flat at his sides, legs pressed together beneath the covers (which don’t stop him from feeling cold). Then Bruce focuses on his breathing.

In. And out. In and out. Just like that.

After a moment, Bruce feels his heartrate and breathing return to normal, and he releases the slightest bit of tension from his body. But he still doesn’t relax. Because if he moves, he’ll wake up Clark. And if he does that, Bruce will never ever forgive himself.

One week ago, they had a close call.

It was Luthor again— of _fucking **course**_ it was Luthor— and he shot Clark. Right in front of Batman. And all Bruce could do was throw a batarang at Luthor’s laughing face as he rushed forward and scrambled to catch Superman’s falling body before he could hit the ground. He’ll have nightmares about the difficulty of that task for a long time to come; Bruce doubts he’ll be able to forget the feel of Superman slipping through his gauntleted fingers— because his suit is slick with blood— anytime soon. He purses his lips and works on being very, very still.

Clark only came back on active duty two days ago, and, by Bruce’s standards, his boyfriend is still overly pale; there’s a new scar too. _A scar_.

Superman should not have scars.

So Bruce lies there stiff as a plank, feeling cooler than a block of marble, and stares up at the dark, depthless expanse of the bedroom ceiling. Beside him, Clark sleeps on.

**°°°**

“You look exhausted, Bruce.”

“Hm?” he looks up from the expense report, and takes off his glasses so he can rub his tired eyes. “I’m fine, Clark.”

“If you say so,” Clark replies, sounding dubious.

Bruce shoots him a reassuring smile, and squeezes his boyfriend’s hand for good measure. Clark smiles softly in return and goes back to reading his book. Bruce returns to the charts and rows of numbers before him. He catches a yawn, and nearly growls at his stupidity. _Clark’s fine_ , he tells his amygdala, and his subconscious. _See look— he’s sitting right there on the couch, not five feet away._

**But what if he’s not?**

Bruce feels like this question has chewed through his gut and gnawed on his nerves over the last few days. Because, at this point, he _knows_ that even Clark, nigh invincible Clark, is not completely unbreakable. No hero is. This latest incident only reinforces that knowledge. At this chain of thoughts, Bruce does sigh. Clark looks up.

“I’m going to bed,” he says. Clark nods.

Bruce stands, and leaves.

**°°°**

Several hours later, Bruce is, once again, lying stiffly in bed while Clark continues to sleep beside him. This time, he’s biting his lower lip in an effort to keep his emotional outburst at bay. Bruce can _feel_ the tears welling up in his eyes, reaching their meniscus point, and he blinks rapidly; the slightest noise might wake his bedmate. Clark’s super hearing is both convenient and, at times— like this one— _awful_.

Bruce feels dizzy and tries, as best he can, not to let his breath wheeze or come out in an abnormal way as he releases it. This is something he needs to deal with on his own. These are his attachment issues, not Clark’s. The man already has enough of Bruce’s _other_ issues to contend with.

He breathes shakily, silently raises a hand to his wet eyes, and then does his best to put aside the nightmare and finally sleep.

**°°°**

_Red liquid slips through the hourglass. It’s Clark’s **life** , Bruce realizes. Clark’s life is in this hourglass, and… and there’s another one next to it— his. But even though Bruce’s is cracked, and leaking sand everywhere, it’s Clark’s which is running out more rapidly. And **nothing** he does stops the leak. Bruce adjusts the press of his gauntlets to the crack and observes the red liquid more carefully. It’s blood— _

He gasps and sits up, reeling slightly. Bruce sniffs, then he blinks. He feels the tears against his eyelashes, his cheeks. Wildly, he glances sideways— _have I woken him?_ No. Clark, miraculously, sleeps on. Bruce sighs, lies down again on his side, facing away from Clark, and stares out the window at the bright moonlight until he drifts into unconsciousness once more.

°°°

“Bruce?”

“Yes, Clark?” he asks tiredly, looking up from the cave’s computer. Clark’s piercing eyes meet his, then Superman opens his mouth, and closes it. He looks puzzled. “What is it?” Bruce insists, doing his best to keep himself under control. _Is this about last night? Or something else?_ He thinks he’s been able to avoid disturbing Clark at night, but… but there’s always the possibility that he’s wrong. Never can quite tell what kinds of distractions Clark will be able to ignore, and which he won’t.

“Nothing. Sorry to interrupt.”

Bruce turns back to the report he’s working on. “It’s fine.”

°°°

He sleeps well that night, and so feels justified for not telling Clark about his nightmares. _See?_ Bruce tells himself, _it was nothing after all._ Clark looks relieved come morning. At this, Bruce can’t help but feel relieved too.

°°°

“Bruce? Shh, you’re okay.”

Bruce gasps at the gentle hand grabbing his shoulder. “Clark- what?”

“You were having a nightmare.”

Bruce freezes momentarily, feeling caught out. “Oh,” he says, swallowing. “Sorry I woke you.”

He goes to turn over, try to go back to sleep, but Clark’s grip on his shoulder stops him; the gentle warmth of it burns. Clark sighs. “Bruce,” he says exasperatedly. “I know about the other nightmares.” Bruce freezes, his stomach roils. _Oh_.

He blinks, and forces himself to sit up. Clark mirrors his actions. They’re both silent, merely staring at one another in the dark. Then Clark flicks on his bedside lamp, and the abrupt _brightness_ of the room makes Bruce wince, feeling blinded and- and exposed. “I… it’s nothing, Clark. I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.” _Sorry I woke you_. _Sorry I can’t keep myself from getting worked up over every damn stupid little thing. Sorry you have to deal with this_.

Clark sighs, and pats the patch of empty space between them. “C’mere, Bruce.”

He blinks, but, upon seeing the other man’s insistent look, complies. Bruce scoots closer, and then he’s enveloped in Clark’s large, warm arms. Despite himself, Bruce relaxes slightly. Clark’s sigh ruffles Bruce’s hair. “Look. I know you think you’re protecting me, Bruce, but you’re not. I will _never_ be annoyed by you needing me, okay? So just tell me next time.”

“I—” Bruce feels slightly choked up, and cuts himself off. Clark’s arms squeeze him tighter.

“We can talk about this more in the morning. For now, I think we _both_ need to get some sleep.” The bedside lamp is turned off. Clark releases him, but opens his arms again once they’re both lying down. Feeling a strange combination of soft affection and deep, guilty embarrassment over being so _needy_ , Bruce shuffles backward until he’s enveloped in Clark’s arms again. Clark kisses his cheek. “Go to sleep, B. I’m not going anywhere.”

Bruce exhales, and feels a soft smile tug at his lips. _How is Clark so good?_ His heart feels a million pounds lighter. Here, held in Clark’s, Kal’s, Superman’s, arms in the safety of the dark bedroom, it feels as if **_nothing_ **can get to him. Even things as intangible as nightmares.

“I- I know, Clark. I know.” _Thank you. Thank you for your love_.

Clark gently squeezes him in response. _Always, Bruce. Always._

**Author's Note:**

> In these more-than-uncertain times, we need more fluff, and gentleness. Stay safe out there ❤! 
> 
> Title adapted from the song, “Warmth” by Bastille. 
> 
> You can watch the music video [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1idDZ3QHEPs).


End file.
